


Turn Left

by Impala_Dreamer



Series: Turn Left [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Multi, mini series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/pseuds/Impala_Dreamer
Summary: ~ “One small change, as simple as turning left when you once went right, can change everything”…~





	1. Cozy Sweaters and Pencils

CHAPTER ONE - Cozy Sweaters and Pencils

A flash of pain pulled Y/N awake and she gasped, filling her struggling lungs with as much air as she could. The room was dark and damp; the air heavy and humid around her. She coughed as the musty stench of the root cellar filled her nose, and Y/N blinked wildly into the darkness. To her left, she saw her roommate, Tessa, slumped over on the cold cement floor, her face caked in blood, her eyes blank and motionless. 

Y/N fought back a scream as reality caught up with her. She was trapped, tied up in a basement, best friend dead at her feet. She tried to move, wincing as a fresh wave of pain shot down from her wrists, bound tightly above her head. She twisted against her bindings, but she was weak, injured and tired, and the ropes were thick. 

Her body began to shake, shoulders pulsing inwards as they tried to disappear into nothingness. Her breath was ragged, blood pounding in her ears; she was dying. 

Y/N pressed her head back against the dirt wall and closed her eyes, praying to a god she never spoke to before, begging for help, release, anything. When the door slammed open, she knew no one had heard her prayer.

Three burly men sauntered in, not a care in the world plaguing their calm faces. They had done this before, hundreds of times. Stealing women from taverns in the middle of the night and trussing them up was nothing new to them, and their routine was down pat.

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and Y/N’s choking sobs blocked the men's voices from her understanding, but she didn't need to hear them to know what was coming next. She screamed as rough hands grabbed at her arms and lifted her up. Y/N let her legs give out, purposefully trying to fall to the ground out of her captor's grasp, but he held firm and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her to standing. 

“Please!” The pathetic cry left her lips before she could think it, and the man laughed in her face. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, you’re adorable.” His voice was filled with teasing hate that made Y/N cringe and try to pull away, but his fingers tightened in her hair, ripping strands from her scalp in bloody clumps. 

“Let me go, please,” she tried again, breathing out the desperate whimper as loudly as she could. 

Again, her plea was met with a devilish laugh. “Let you go? Baby, we’re gonna keep you. Forever.” The man grinned and tipped his head back as a row of razors fell from his gums to cover his teeth. He pulled at her hair, yanking Y/N’s head to the side, and flashed one last smile before leaning down to sink his fangs into her throat. 

A web of pain spread from each tiny puncture point, and Y/N’s eyes rolled as her mind tried to shut down, running from the moment to spare her the torture. As the room blurred, a loud bang sounded behind them as two tall figures burst through the door. Y/N tried to hold on, hoping beyond hope that her prayer had been answered, but her head was swimming, her heart pumping too fast, working hard to feed the thirsty beast that sucked greedily on her pulse. 

Suddenly she hit the floor, dropped by the monster as the fight raged on. Y/N rolled onto her back and set her tired eyes on the beams above her. The relentless thudding in her ears began to slow, and Y/N felt the room fading away. She felt her body lighten, as if gravity were releasing her, and she took a long, slow breath that calmed her soul. This was the end, and it was alright. 

Something crashed to the floor on her left, and Y/N turned her eyes to see the head of her murderer roll to a stop beside her. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth open in a shout. A tiny smile curled Y/N’s lips and she whispered a faint “Fuck You” to the dead man before her eyes fell shut. 

A large hand shook her shoulder, forcing her eyes to open. Y/N pulled in a hard breath and tried to pull away, but a kind face with big hazel eyes told her to be still. He spoke quickly, big pink lips moving as he looked her over, but Y/N couldn't hear him over the panic in her mind. She was terrified and near Death's Door; the edges of her vision still bright with Heaven's glow. 

“Hey, hey!” The man's soft voice finally broke through the chaos and Y/N shook her head, trying to focus on his words. “You're OK,” he told her calmly. “I've got you.”

Y/N smacked her dry lips and tried to answer, her voice cracking through the pain. “Who are you? What…” The entire night slammed back into her consciousness like a freight train, and Y/N started to shake violently. 

“My name is Sam Winchester. You're gonna be alright, I promise.” 

~

Y/N rolled over in bed and curled herself into the empty pillow on the left side. She took a deep breath, smiling at the lingering scent that filled her senses. 

She sighed as the dream fell away, and Y/N willed herself to think of better things. That horrible night often snuck its way into her subconscious, but Y/N did her best not to dwell on it. One night of horrors had opened up a whole new world to her. A world filled with adventure and mystery, with action and magic, with love.

The Winchesters had been tracking the vamps that abducted Y/N, and fate had led them to kick down the right door at the right moment, saving Y/N’s life. Sam had scooped her up from that cold basement floor and never really put her back down. 

Having no place to go, no family to care for her, he had insisted that she stay with them until she was well, and three years later, she was still under their roof. 

“Good morning!” 

An out of breath Sam greeted Y/N from the doorway, his hair and t shirt soaked in sweat from his morning run. He smiled and made his way over to the bed, watching in amusement as Y/N refused to get up. 

“Go away,” she grumbled and pressed her face deeper into his pillow.

Sam laughed as he knelt down beside the bed and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “Oh, come on, Y/N/N, it's almost eight. Get up.” 

“No.”

“Y/N…”

Sam ran his fingers through her hair once more, trying to coax her awake, and Y/N’s mind pulsed with an idea. In a quick sweeping motion, she rolled over and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up onto the bed as she scooted back.

Sam laughed and tried to pull away, but she held him tight. “No, I'm all sweaty.”

“I don't care,” she said with a grin. “I like it.” Y/N sat up and pulled him down, burying her face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath, drinking him in. 

Sam blushed and settled down on the cool sheets, wrapping his arms around her back. “You're so weird.”

“I can't help it if I like your stinky, sweaty neck,” she defended and pressed her lips next to his ear. 

Sam gave up all protest as Y/N’s tongue danced across his neck. They rolled together on the firm mattress, and Sam got in a second workout that morning. He kissed her fully awake, leaving no space untouched. His lips passed over every hill and valley, from the swell of her breast to the warmth between her thighs. He loved every inch of her, every mark and imperfection; his fingertips brushing gently over the dimpled skin of her throat and the faint scar above her heart. 

 

Life was good. Y/N fit into place easily between the brothers and quickly took up residence in their hearts. 

She wasn't a fighter by any means, and Dean had long ago given up on training her to hunt. But she wasn't useless, having found a niche in the Library, and Sam had opened his mind as well as his heart to her, finding an intense joy in showing Y/N his world through books and lore. 

They would spend hours together pouring over ancient manuscripts, their minds filling with a universe of knowledge. Y/N helped Sam finish uploading the Men of Letters archives to his computer, and soon everything they could need was ready at a few taps of the keyboard. 

The boys carried on with their hunting and sometimes she would go with them on simple jobs; her favorite for some reason being a good old Salt and Burn. She liked the mystery behind it all, the investigation and detective work needed in finding out who was haunting what, and where they were buried. Oh, what joy she felt if they had been cremated. It added a whole other layer to the mission, and Y/N loved every second of it. 

Unlike in her past life, Y/N felt more and more at ease with herself. Maybe it was the isolation of a secretive world, living in a hidden bunker beneath the Kansas hills, or maybe the Winchesters’ unconditional acceptance, but she could finally be herself. She wasn't afraid to be the nerdy bookworm she always had been, and fashionable corporate attire gave way for cozy oversized sweaters and reading glasses. She was rarely seen without a pencil or two stuck in her hair, and although Dean teased that she looked like a librarian, she didn't care. That's basically what she was anyway: a librarian who occasionally dug up graves and burned corpses. The quiet life, with a sharp edge. 

 

One dreary September day, Sam received a phone call from Louis Manning, a hunter who often called him for help with unusual situations. Y/N lifted her chin as Sam chatted away, only half listening to his conversation. When he ended the call, he sat back in his seat and cleared his throat, politely calling her full attention.

Y/N smirked but kept her eyes on her manuscript, pretending to be deep in thought. She was listening, she just wanted to hear him say the three little words that always made her laugh.

“So get this…”

Y/N let out a faint chuckle and lifted her eyes finally. “Yes?”

Sam, realising her game, rolled his eyes but smiled back at her. “How'd you like to take a trip down to Texas?”

“I like cowboys,” she teased in reply.

“Cowboys?” Dean's head popped around the big column, a childlike grin lifting his cheeks. 

Y/N and Sam turned to see him hop down the steps. 

“I was just passing through...what's this about cowboys?” he asked and plopped down next to Y/N, tossing his boots up on the table. Y/N gasped and quickly pulled her book away, lest it be sprinkled with dry mud or whatever else was trapped in his treads.

“Yeah.” Sam sat up, folding his hands on the table. “Got a call from Louis. He caught wind of a case down in Texas, but he's busy with some ghouls a few towns over.”

“So he just dropped it in our laps?” Dean asked with an annoyed tone. “Like we don't have anything better to do?”

Y/N hid a laugh poorly behind her hand. “You don't.”

Dean turned to glare at her. “Don't what?”

“You don't have anything better to do. You're bored stupid.”

“Am not!”

“You've cleaned the fridge out twice, Dean. You're bored.”

“That's just because someone spilled soy sauce all over the top shelf.”

“Hey! I told you it wasn't me!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“OK, just...Enough!” Sam's scolding stopped the argument cold. At least twice a week he seemed to be pulling Y/N and Dean away from each other's throats. They were friends, of course, but sometimes they butted heads a little too much, leaving Sam to play peacekeeper. “Do you even want to hear about the case? Or would you rather debate condiments?”

“We're not debating condiments, Sammy, just the spilling of...con...di…” Dean’s jaw snapped shut under Sam's scowl, and he dropped his boots, waving a hand and giving Sam the floor.

“Thank you. So anyway…”

Sam went on for a good twenty minutes, often repeating himself for Dean who seemed hell-bent on boring a hole into Y/N’s forehead out of spite. 

When he neared the end, Y/N sat forward. “So, they're like… gypsies?”

Sam’s face twisted into a half cringe. “Well, not... technically,” he tried to explain. “More like-”

Dean cut him off, excited. “Indians!”

“Dean!” Y/N gasped, her hand flying up to cover her gaping mouth.

“Dean you can't say… Indians,” Sam scolded him with a tiny roll of his eyes.

Y/N shook her head in disgust. “Geeze, Dean. Native Americans.”

Dean sat back and waved them both away with a dismissive motion. “OK, alright. I don't need to be politically correct under my own roof.”

Y/N glared at him and leaned over the table, ready to fight again. “You are such a-”

Dean sat up and matched her pose. “A what? Say it. Sayyy iiit.”

“Guys!” Sam's booming voice once again pulled the boxers apart, and each sat back in their corner.

Y/N sighed. “Sorry.”

Dean merely nodded and hummed. “Mhm.”

“You can't even apologize, can you?” Y/N snapped, her annoyance growing again. 

Dean smiled as if she hadn't said a word, unbothered. “When I do something that needs an apology I will.”

“Stubborn ass,” she spat.

“Look who's talking,” he countered.

Sam growled and rolled his shoulders, done with their bickering. “Should I leave?”

Y/N and Dean shut their mouths and looked away, and Sam cleared his throat. “Anyway... They are more of a mix of the two, with some Aztec aspects thrown in for good luck. They live in small matriarchal communities and the magic is passed down through the female blood line.”

Y/N raised a brow, intrigued. “Natural magic, or...?”

Sam nodded. “Natural. They use it mostly in a witch doctor, or holistic capacity, healing achy joints and the like.”

“Lame,” Dean commented under his breath.

Y/N spoke over him. “So they're being attacked?”

“Wiped out,” Sam replied. “Three families in the last four months. All the women died mysteriously. And all differently. Some are being kidnapped then just turn up dead. Some eviscerated. Some drained. It's all very ritualistic and everyone is scared.”

Y/N cringed. “I would be too. So what's the plan?”

Dean sat forward and pulled his gun from his back. “We go in and save some hippie chicks.” He winked at Y/N who rolled her eyes. 

“They're not… hippies…” Dean chuckled and she gave up. “Never mind.”

Dean’s chuckle grew into a full blown laugh but Sam's scowl quickly brought it back down. “You guys are no fun anymore,” he complained as he set off for the garage. 

 

It was about a ten hour drive to their destination, and Y/N used that time to read up on the case, digging far deeper into the background than even Sam thought was necessary, but she didn’t mind. It kept her hands occupied and her thoughts off of the slight nausea caused by Dean’s NASCAR speeding. Every faint turn in the road felt to Y/N like the car was going to flip, so she kept her head down in the books for as long as her equilibrium would allow. 

“Oh, now this sounds like fun,” Y/N said excitedly from the backseat, running her fingers over the page in her lap. 

“Yeah, what’s that?” Dean humoured her, but kept his eyes on the road, uninterested.

“Says here that the Nënat e Dritës-”

“Dree-tas,” Sam cut her off, correcting her pronunciation. 

“Drey-teas,” she tried again, but it still sounded wrong. “Screw it, the Mothers of Light tribe, are able to ‘bend time’.” She threw air quotes around the term and grinned at Sam who had spun around to face her. 

Sam frowned, deep in thought, and nodded. “Really, huh. In what way?”

Y/N gave him a twinkling smile and pushed the glasses up on her nose as she explained. “Well, the texts don’t go into details, but it’s mentioned more than once. Apparently the old Men of Letters deemed it too dangerous to be studied, but it sounds like the Tribe Elders can literally reach back into time and right a wrong.”

“Like Quantum Leap?” Dean chirped up, glancing at Y/N in the rearview mirror and giving her a quick laugh. “That is fun.”

“What a nerd,” Y/N snapped at Dean but gave Sam a playful wink that he returned. 

“I’m not… come on, that sounds awesome,” Dean defended. 

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed sarcastically. “Maybe we can get them to reach back and undo whatever was done to make you such a jerk.”

Dean gasped and shifted in his seat, trying to undo the hurt from her diss. “Seriously Y/N? So rude.”

Y/N shrugged and Sam sniggered, unable to hold back his laugh. 

Dean side eyed his brother and then rolled his eyes when he realized Y/N was messing with him. “You can both go to Hell,” he sneered. “I knew this was a terrible idea, you two hooking up. You gang up on me too much. It’s not fair.”

Y/N teased him over Sam’s laughter. “Aww, poor baby.”

“I’ll... poor baby... you,” Dean tried to defend himself, but gave up, shaking his head as the road curved once more. 

~

It was hot and the air conditioning in the motel was wanting. The unit shoved into the wall beneath the windows did little more than cause raindrops of condensation to blur the glass, and Y/N spent half the day standing in front of the blower begging for relief. 

As the boys were out doing their Fed thing, she stayed behind to turn the room into a study hall, taking up almost every flat surface with books and newspapers, shuffling from seat to seat with her laptop. 

By three o’clock, she gave up and hopped in the shower, needing a relief from the sweat that coated her skin. Much to her dismay, even the cold water wasn’t really all that cold and Y/N grumbled as she dried off and wrapped a towel around her chest. 

“Hey, Baby.” 

Sam was waiting for her when she entered the room, sitting behind her computer, long legs stretched out on their bed. His shoes were lined up perfectly at the foot of their bed, his sports coat folded neatly, set to hang over one of the chairs. Despite the sweat glistening on his forehead, he seemed unaffected by the stifling air, his focus entirely on the screen. 

“How was the morgue?” Y/N asked, digging through her duffle for a clean shirt. “Cooler than here, I hope.”

Sam gave a little laugh but didn’t look up. “It was. One good thing about working with dead bodies: you have to keep it cold.”

“I’m in the wrong line of work,” Y/N joked and Sam finally looked up.

“Aren’t we all…”

A quick kiss and then back to work. 

“So, find anything?” Sam inquired, watching from the corner of his eye as she changed. 

“Well, yeah. A lot, actually. But I keep going back to that Time Bending thing. It’s really interesting.”

Sam’s smile fell, knowing what she was thinking. “Y/N…” 

She kept her back to him, not wanting his disapproving glance. “I’m just saying, if it’s legit, imagine what we could do...the people we could save. We could...I could save Tessa.” She paused and perched on the edge of the bed to fit her legs in her jeans. “It’s a really simple spell too, all you need basically is blood and…”

Sam set the computer down and crawled to her. “Y/N… you can’t.”

“I could. I help you with spells all the time,” she protested, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m not an expert, I’ll give you that, but, I could do it.”

“No, I mean…” Sam shook his head and ran his hand across her shoulders, hoping to calm her before the waterworks began. “I mean, you can’t do it. No one should. You can’t mess with the past. It’s not right. It’s dangerous.”

“Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry,” she quoted sadly. 

“Exactly.” His hand curled around her shoulder and Sam pulled her back against him. Her head fell to the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, Baby Girl.”

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out, slowly pushing her tears away with it. “It’s OK. I just got caught up in the idea. You’re right, I know.”

A comfortable silence fell as Sam held her. Moments alone were rare and the quiet was refreshing, although short lived. Just as Sam’s fingertips began to wander across the hollow of her collarbone, the front door opened and a very overheated Dean walked in. 

“It is hotter than Anna Nicole Smith in a string bikini out there!” 

Y/N sighed and left the safety of Sam’s arms. “Ain’t much better in here.” She stood and turned around, buttoning her jeans. 

“Oh good, you’re dressed,” Dean said as he shrugged off his damp navy jacket. 

“Why?” 

“Gonna go meet the hippies. You’re coming with.”

Y/N frowned in confusion. “Why me?”

Dean yanked the striped tie from his neck and tossed it onto the coffee table. It slid off and hit the floor, but he made no move to retrieve it. “Because they’re all about women and you’re… a girl or whatever…”

“Oh, you noticed,” Y/N scoffed, making Sam chuckle. 

“Whatever, just get your shoes on. Meet you at the car in ten. I need to splash some water on my face before I pass out.”

Y/N rounded the bed and picked up her sneakers. “You’re not coming?” she asked, looking up at Sam who hadn’t moved from the bed. 

He shook his head. “I wanna check on something; I got a hunch about one of the local socialites. Someone’s had a less than mediocre rise to power lately.”

Y/N pouted.

“You’ll be fine.”

“He’s just uber annoying lately, Sam.”

Sam stood up quickly and came to her, bending in half to take her cheeks in his huge hands and lift her face to his. “He’s always annoying,” he whispered. “Just ignore him. Check out the tribe, do what you do. You’ll be fine.” 

Y/N stared into his eyes, ignoring his words. “Have I told you lately how handsome you are?”

Sam blushed and licked his lips gently. “Stop it.”

“Oh, no,” she insisted, grabbing his wrists to hold him in place. “Too handsome for words. It’s true. I’ve done research. There are no words to describe your beauty, Sam Winchester.” 

Overcome by her compliments, or maybe just to shut her up, Sam leaned down the rest of the way and kissed her deeply; their eyes falling closed as their lips met. “Love you,” he whispered. 

“Gross!”  
Once again, Dean interrupted, brushing passed the lovebirds and grabbing his keys. “Let’s go! I’m starving and we have shit to do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam backed away and helped her up. “Can I smack him? I really wanna smack him.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sam assured her again. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

~

There were actual visible heat lines rising from the pavement as Dean and Y/N walked from the car to the little gray house on the corner. 

“It is hot as fuck out here,” Dean commented, his boots kicking up dust behind him.

“No shit.”

“Why are you so snippy lately?” 

“I’m not snippy, you’re obnoxious.”

“Whatever.” 

They were all smiles when they reached the front door, waiting for Ms. Maybelle to answer. She had been recommended to them by several witnesses as the person to talk with, and when she opened the door, it was clear that the Hunters were expected. 

“Ah, welcome.” Maybelle was about four feet two inches in height, quite round, but very beautiful. Despite her obvious age, her hair was naturally black and full, matching her eyes. She wore little makeup, but was covered in turquoise gems, hanging around her neck and from her ears by shining silver wire. Her smile was warm and instantly put Dean and Y/N at ease as she stepped back for them to enter. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with us, Ms. Maybelle,” Y/N said kindly, extending her hand in greeting. “My name’s Y/N, this is my partner, Dean.” Her hand was warm and Y/N took a deep breath, feeling calm and cool for the first time in days. 

“Come on in.” 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Dean shook her hand next and must have felt the same thing Y/N did, for he sighed and grinned honestly at the little old woman. “You have a lovely home.”

“Eh,” Maybelle waved him off and shut the door. “It suits me. So, what can I do for you two? Here about the murders, I assume.”

“Well, yes,” Dean nodded and followed her into the sitting room. “We know this is a difficult time, but if you have any information, it would sure help us out.”

Maybelle sank down into her rocking chair and gestured for the others to sit as well. Dean and Y/N sat at the same time, both aiming for the same cushion on the pale blue sofa, and spent a quick second silently yelling for the other to move. In the end, they both scooted four inches to the side and the moment passed. 

After laughing at their tussle, Maybelle cleared her throat. “I don’t know how much help I can be. You two seem like competent hunters.”

“You’re not...afraid to talk to us?” Y/N asked, surprised that Maybelle knew who they were. 

“No.” Maybelle smiled. “Why should I be?” 

“Most people with...supernatural abilities are less than excited to deal with Hunters.”

Maybelle sat back and shrugged. “I can tell that you are both good people,” she said plainly, eyeing Dean specifically. “Willing to come all the way out here to help out an old lady.”

Dean smiled and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “We’ll do what we can.” When he looked back up, his expression was kind but serious. “Is there anything you can tell us? You know everyone in town, your name came up a dozen times today.”

The mood shifted drastically and Maybelle rocked slowly, her bare toes pointing on the threadworm rug beneath them. 

“We’re being hunted. My girls are being killed, their powers drained.” A frown filled her face and sadness radiated from her being, pulsing through the room, striking Y/N in the chest. Maybelle leaned forward as tears filled her eyes. “I can’t stop it,” she said mekely. “I’ve done all I can, but the witches are too powerful, and the more of my children they slaughter, the stronger they become.”

Y/N’s heart was breaking and she could barely speak. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean swallowed hard, clearly feeling it too. “Do you have any idea who could be doing this?” 

Maybelle closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath. “Just one…”

~

“Sam, we got it.”

“Huh, so did I.”

Y/N tugged at Dean’s sleeve until he lowered the phone and hit the speaker button. “You get an address?”

“Yeah. 116 Bard Avenue. Big white house with a red front door. I’m there now.”

Y/N grabbed Dean’s wrist and leaned close to the phone. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just wait for us.”

“I will, Baby. Just hurry. They’ll be back soon.”

Dean yanked his hand from Y/N’s grip. “They?” 

Sam sighed. “Yeah, there’s at least three of them from what I can gather. Nice little coven.”

“Yeah, Murder Coven.” Dean laughed. 

Y/N glared. “OK, Sam, we’ll be right there.”

Dean hung up and stashed the cell in his pocket. “OK. I’ll drop you back at the motel and go meet Sam.” 

Y/N gasped at the definitive tone in his voice, not at all accepting it. “What? No way. I’m coming.”

“No.” The door squeaked as Dean pulled it open, ignoring her. 

“Yes. I’m coming.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes so far back that his head had to go with them. “I don’t have time for this, kid.”

“Don’t ‘kid’ me,” she snapped, throwing open her own door. “I’m coming. There’s three witches, three of us. Easy peasy. Now shut up and drive.” 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Dean warned. 

 

Y/N scowled over the roof. Dean held her stare. Neither blinked. 

It was too hot for a fight and Sam was waiting, so Dean relented. “Fine. Whatever. Get in.”

~

It was dark by the time they reached the witch’s house and the first floor windows glowed a pale yellow behind fancy white curtains. 

The Impala slowed to a stop across the street as Dean pulled into a spot, his attention on the house. “Rich people,” he scoffed. “Always hiding stuff.”

Y/N leaned over him to check out the house. “Yeah, but most don’t hide black magic and genocide.”

“You’d be surprised.”

A gunshot rang out and the Impala interior iced over with panic.

Y/N drew in a sharp breath. “Sam!”

“What the hell! Told him to wait!” Dean wrenched his door open and jumped from his seat. 

Y/N was too scared to answer him, pumping her arms and legs furiously to keep up with as he sprinted to the house. His legs were much longer, his body used to moving so quickly; she was out of breath and hurting by the time they reached the door. 

Dean kicked it down without hesitation. The red painted wood splintered along the seam and scattered across the highly polished hardwood floor. 

Another gunshot pulled them towards the rear of the house; Y/N still scrambling to keep up as Dean drew his pistol and threw out an arm to keep her back. 

The commotion was coming from the kitchen; a large swinging white door blocking their view from the hallway. 

Sam was shouting, a woman screeching in reply. Everything was muted by the blood pounding in Y/N's ears as she crept up behind Dean. He cocked his gun and pushed the door open.

Sam was two yards away, on the other side of a long butcher block island. He swayed on his feet, blood gushing from cuts on his arms and cheeks. He was a mess, beaten and bruised, out of breath.

In the split second after Dean pushed the door open, Sam raised his gun, aiming at the witch, but he never took the shot. 

Y/N screamed for him, and his eyes turned towards her voice.

The witch moved in. A wave of visible red energy shot from her fingertips, striking Sam with a force that stiffened every muscle, pulling him up to his full height. He gasped, sucking in a hard breath that echoed in Y/N’s ears. The energy swirled around him and before he could exhale, snapped his neck. 

Sam crumbled like a rag doll, hitting the fancy black and white penny tiles with a dull thud; eyes wide with shock, lips open in a scream. 

Dean fired twice, hitting the witch between the eyes, but it was too late, Sam was gone. 

~

It took twenty minutes of coaxing and a slap across the face before Y/N let Dean touch him. She followed like a zombie as Dean carried Sam to the car, his lifeless arm hanging down to Dean’s knee, his broken neck cradled in Dean’s elbow. 

Dean had to physically pull her out of the car when they got back to the motel room. He didn’t want to stop, but they needed to collect their things, settle up, and Y/N needed to breathe. She wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t look at Dean; her breaths were so shallow he could barely see them. He held back his own tears as he moved her around, forcing her to be present with him, if only for a few minutes now and then. He’d collapse later. Once they got Sam home. 

While Dean was in the bathroom scooping their things into a bag, Y/N paced the room. No matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the memory that clouded her vision: that red light, the quick snap, Sam falling. He fell over and over again until she shut her eyes and bit down hard into her tongue, willing it all away. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. 

As she turned to start her circuit again, she tripped over something at the foot of the bed. Looking down she saw Sam’s dress shoes, still sitting perfectly side by side where he had left them. Y/N bent to pick them up and fell over completely, hands and knees meeting the carpet as a horrid wave of tears overtook her. 

“Y/N/N,” Dean sank to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her shoulders. “Hey, come on, kid. Don't… I need you right now, OK? We gotta get out of here, gotta get him home, OK? You with me?”

Y/N turned and sat down on the floor, barely hearing him, her eyes wet and vacant. 

“Come on, Y/N,” he begged, “I can't do this by myself.”

She blinked quickly and shook herself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Dean, I can't…he can't…” She looked up suddenly and they both broke. 

Dean fell down beside her and Y/N wrapped her arms around him. He sobbed into her neck just as she drowned his flannel with her own tears. They clawed at each others arms, holding tighter with each shaking breath, clinging to one another like life rafts on a stormy sea. 

The clock ticked forward. The sky grew slowly lighter. The world kept turning.

At some point Y/N had collapsed into Dean's lap, hiding her face in both hands. She awoke from her stupor now, an idea brewing as Dean absentmindedly stroked her hair. 

“I know what to do,” she said in barely a whisper. 

Dean’s hand froze and he looked down in confusion. “What’s that?” 

“I know how to fix this.” She said up and pushed away, not bothering to look at him. “I can get him back.” Her breaths were coming fast, her eyes wide as the idea turned in her mind. “I can save Sam.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Dean wiped at his cheek and hung his head as she ran to a pile of books by the door. “He’s gone.”

“No.” The top three books hit the floor. 

“Yes.” Dean stood slowly and went to her, needing her to stop and listen to him. He grabbed her arm and she spun around, startled. “Y/N/N. Ya gotta stop. Please.”

In her hands she held the book she’d been after and a crazed smile tugged at her lips as she lifted it to his eyes. “No, Dean. I can fix this. Don’t you remember? The spell!”

“The-the Quantum Leap thing?” Dean pulled away and shook his head. “No. You’re not messing with that.”

“No, I wouldn’t be,” she agreed, looking more insane by the second. She laughed and flipped through the pages to find the spell. “I can’t work this kind of magic… but we know someone who can. Probably the only person who can.”

“Absolutely not.” Dean placed his hand on the book and pressed down, pulling it away and urging her to look up. “Y/N, I’ve been down this road before. I’ve done things, hell, I’ve sold my soul to get Sam back. It never comes without a price.”

“I don’t care.” 

“I do!”

Her eyes were clear. Her mind made up. “I’m sorry, Dean. I have to try.” 

“I can’t let you do this.”

Y/N took a breath and looked away for a moment, determined and immovable. “Then stop me.”

~

Maybelle was waiting by the front door when Y/N got there. The sun was beginning to rise and the blessed chill of night was slowly fading away. Morning was breaking. 

Dean had given up, too distraught to fight, knowing she wouldn’t back down. He refused to go with her, though, and Y/N had walked the three miles from the motel with dry eyes and a clenched jaw. This was the only way. 

Sam Winchester had saved her life once. 

It was time to return the favor. 

“I know why you’re here and the answer is no.” 

Y/N looked up from the dirt on her sneakers and nodded. “If you already know why I’m here, then you know I’m not going to leave until you do this for me.”

The tears were welling in her eyes again and Y/N bit her lip in protest. “Please.”

Maybelle sighed and opened the screen door. “Come inside and eat something, child. You look terrible.”

 

Y/N couldn’t eat, but the coffee was good; rich and dark, with a hint of cinnamon. 

“You want to tell me about it?” Maybelle asked as she refreshed Y/N’s mug. 

“About what?” Y/N’s voice was cracked; hours of crying and worse had done damage to her throat. 

“About Sam.” Her smile was kind as she sat at the head of the table. 

Y/N shook her head and looked for distraction in her coffee. All she found was the kitchen light reflected in the blackness, and she blinked away a tear. “I loved him. So much.”

Maybelle reached across the old formica table and placed her hand upon Y/N’s forearm. “I know, honey.”

“He was… the best man I’ve ever met. A real hero, ya know?” She looked to Maybelle for confirmation, smiling when she nodded. “Selfless, so… smart. Oh, god, so smart. I couldn’t keep up with him. And so beautiful. I used to tell him all the time but he never believed me; always made him blush. I loved that the best. He’d get real shy and look away, kinda rub the back of his neck…” She stopped to take a breath but lost her fight against the tears again. They came quickly, streaming down her cheeks in hot lines that collected on the table in a salty pool. “He saved me,” she went on between heaving breaths, “and not just from those vampires. He gave me a new life, a purpose. I owe him everything.”

Maybelle lifted her hand and curled it around Y/N’s cheek, lifting her chin. “If we do this, there are things you need to know.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide and she brushed the tears from her face, nodding quickly. 

“It is a very dangerous spell, Y/N, and one that should not be done without serious consideration.” 

“I’ve considered. Do it. Please.” 

Maybelle tucked the hair behind Y/N’s ear and sat back. “I must warn you, the outcome may not be what you had envisioned. Changing one tiny thing in the past can drastically alter the future. One small change, as simple as turning left when you once went right, can change everything. I cannot control the destination, or the change; I cannot guarantee the outcome.” 

“Can you save Sam?” Her question was simple, her mind still set on this course. There was no deterring her, no way to sway her away from this. 

Maybe nodded solemnly. “I can.” 

Not a second passed. “Then do it. Whatever happens to me, I don’t care. Do it. Save him.”

~

The spell called for blood, more blood than she’d ever given before. 

She sat in Maybelle’s yard inside a large circle of white stones, bleeding into an earthen bowl, watching the clouds drift by in the brightening sky. She thought of Sam, of his smile, his ever changing hazel eyes. She thought of his voice, deep and soothing, his hands, so big yet gentle. She cried for her love, for his life, cursing the universe for the gift of him so easily taken back.

While she floated in the haze of bittersweet memory, Maybelle worked the magic. Sands of Time and phoenix feather burned on the fire, cleansing herbs and a dragon's claw became ash at her feet.

When the sacrificial bowl was full and Y/N could give no more, Maybelle asked for her consent one final time. 

“Are you sure, child?”

Weak and exhausted, lying on her back on the dusty ground, Y/N looked up at the sky, at the world still turning, a world without Sam. 

“Save him.”


	2. Leather and Bloody Knuckles

A flash of pain pulled Y/N awake and she gasped, filling her struggling lungs with as much air as she could. 

“Tessa?” Y/N blinked into the darkness and coughed as the musty air of the root cellar filled her nose. “Tessa!” Her throat was dry and the harsh whisper ripped it raw. She tried to move, but it was no use. Her hands were bound tightly above her head, wrists tied with thick ropes that dug into her flesh with each movement. She felt the fibers pierce her skin, felt the blood drip slowly down her arms. “Tessa!”

As her eyes adjusted, Y/N swallowed down a scream. Her roommate, Tessa, was in the corner across the room, her face caked in blood, eyes blank and motionless.

“No. No. No.” She allowed herself but a moment to panic, letting her fear take over before she assessed the situation. Her body began to shake, shoulders pulsing inwards as they tried to disappear into nothingness. Her breath was ragged, blood pounding in her ears; she was dying. 

“Stop it,” she commanded, willing her fear to subside. Crying was pointless, praying was a waste of time; there was no one to hear her anyway. “Just… relax.” 

It was easy, almost, once the fear trickled away, to take a deep breath and relax, to use her hours of horror movie binging to figure a way out. She looked around the room as best she could in the dark, looking for an exit, a weapon, anything. The walls were pure dirt, pressed together over the decades, the floor much the same. It was damp and cold, a real basement; with nothing on the walls but the hook that held her ropes. There was a door to her left, old gray paint chipped and peeling, knob long ago rusted away. But it was an exit, and Y/N twisted her wrists again, desperate to fray the ropes on the hard wall. 

Her attempt was cut short as the door open and three big men walked inside. They were calm, almost excited to see her awake, and the largest man stepped forward with a smile upon his pale face. 

“Evening, Darlin’,” he greeted, and a flash of memory ripped through Y/N’s vision. 

She and Tessa had been out drinking; some new fancy bar on the other side of the tracks. Drunk and giddy, they walked home through unfamiliar alleyways, hunting for Main Street. Stumbling into a dead end, they were greeted by that same pale face and that terrifying voice.

Y/N growled as rough hands grabbed at her arms and lifted her up. She let her legs give out, purposefully trying to fall to the ground out of her captor's grasp, but he held firm and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her to standing. 

“What do you want from me!” She screamed, her voice bouncing around the empty room. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, I think you know.” His voice was filled with teasing hate that made Y/N cringe and try to pull away, but his fingers tightened in her hair, ripping strands from her scalp in bloody clumps. 

Softening her tone, she stopped struggling. “Let me go, please,” she said simply. “I won’t tell anyone what happened here. Just let me go home.”

The man laughed, his head falling backwards with glee. When he calmed, he pulled her close, his breath hot upon her lips. “Let you go? Baby, we’re gonna keep you. Forever.” With a grin, he tipped his head back as a row of razors fell from his gums to cover his teeth. He pulled at her hair, yanking Y/N’s head to the side, and flashed one last smile before leaning down to sink his fangs into her throat. 

It was a strange sensation; the constant pull of his mouth, the dizziness swirling through her body as the blood drained away. Y/N’s muscles went slack and she collapsed in his arms, her breath slowing as the monster sucked at her pulse. 

As the room blurred, a loud bang sounded behind them and two tall figures burst through the door. Her attacker froze, pulling away as a fight raged on behind him. He was hit by something from behind and his grip on Y/N fell away. She staggered back against the wall and watched as dark figures danced around her. 

A tall man with long hair swung a blade at one of the monsters, taking his head clean off. Y/N gasped in shock, eyes cloudy but wide, watching the malay. 

The shadows were quick, their grunts loud and confusing. As Y/N watched on, the long-haired man was knocked off his feet, his blade sent flying across the floor. It landed at Y/N’s feet and she looked down at the dark blood that coated the steel. 

In a moment of panicked courage, Y/N bent down and retrieved the machete. Carefully, she sawed at the ropes that held her wrists, giving a private cheer when they released their hold. She stood up with fire in her eyes and took a step towards the battle, her pale-faced attacker in her crosshairs. 

“Hey!” she yelled, calling everyone’s attention. 

Her attacker rushed forward, fangs bared, eyes dark with rage. Behind him, a shorter man clad in red flannel yelled for Y/N to get back, but she ignored him, moving closer instead. 

As the monster neared, she dug her heels into the dirt. She squared her shoulders, set her eyes on the target, lifted the blade like a baseball bat… and swung for the fences. 

The knife got stuck halfway through the man’s neck and Y/N screamed, the reality of what was happening crashing down around her. The monster fell to his knees, dazed but still alive. 

The red shirted man ran to him and finished the job, yanking the machete from his throat before hacking through properly. 

Y/N stared in shock as the headless body shook for a few seconds and then went still, its head rolling off somewhere into the darkness. 

“Holy shit.” Her head was spinning again, adrenaline and blood loss playing a terrible game inside of her. 

Her hero turned and grabbed her arm, holding her up. “You OK?” His voice was deep but kind, not laced with evil intent like the others had been. 

“Holy shit,” she said again, gaping up at him, watching a droplet of blood paint his cheek as it slid down wards. 

He squeezed her arm gently. “Hey, you’re gonna be OK.”

Y/N nodded and pushed away from the wall, looking down at the corpse at their feet. “What the fuck is going on?” 

“I’m Dean Winchester,” the man told her. He kicked at the body with a heavy boot. “And that was a vampire. You’re safe now, we got you.”

Y/N looked up into his pretty face and everything started to sway to the right, the walls and floor moving as the edges of her vision paled to white. “Dean,” she whispered before falling forward into his arms. “Thank you.”

~

If there was one place she loved to be more than the front seat of the Impala, sitting next to Dean, his arm slung over her shoulders as they cruised to nowhere, Y/N couldn’t think of it. 

She especially loved days like this, when the road was clear and the wind sang through the cracks of the open windows. The trees were changing color all over America, and Y/N had a front row seat to the event. Not to mention the absolutely gorgeous male to her left. Dean was warm and soft; perfect. Everything she’d always wanted in a man and more. 

He was strong and stubborn, often going toe to toe with her on ridiculous verbal battles that always ended with a heated romp in the bedroom. Dean was smart as all hell too, but really quiet about it, always sneaking up on her with random statistics or lore that she didn’t think he’d know. He was constantly finding ways to make her laugh no matter what was going on, and the way he looked at her, with those big green eyes slightly narrowed with lust, his plump lips pulled tight between his teeth… she never stood a chance. 

Dean had been impressed by her moxy back in that Basement of Horrors and once she’d woken up from her unscheduled nap, he treated her to a beer. And then another and one more after that. They’d spent the night talking and drinking, falling into an easy rhythm of banter and jokes, and ultimately, attraction. 

Sunrise saw them leaning against the hood of the Impala, locked in a kiss; Dean’s hands on her hips, her fingers curled around his ears. That was the beginning and the end. Y/N was hooked and Dean had no intention of ever letting her go. 

Things were good. Great, in fact. Y/N slid right into life with the Winchesters and it wasn’t long before she couldn’t remember ever not being with them. 

She wasn’t great with books. She could help when needed, but her attention span wasn’t the best and her mind would wander hopelessly after a few pages, even less if she was trying to translate something. Her tongue could not wrap around Latin, her eyes could not dissect the hidden intricacies of the lore, but Sam didn’t mind. He liked having her around. She was clever even if books weren’t her thing, able to pick up on and piece together clues sometimes before he even found them. She also kept Dean happy and out of his hair most days, which he more than appreciated. 

One thing Y/N seemed to excel at was fighting and despite her size, she was able to kick some serious ass. The boys learned quickly that she could hold her own in even the most dangerous of situations. They didn’t know it, but she was keeping score, and by her count was close to overtaking Dean in knock outs for the year. 

Dean was in love, truly, for the first time ever, and Y/N reciprocated in kind. She could keep up with him in most things, from drinking the bar dry to scarfing down a pizza. She also gave him a run for his money in the gym, making him work up a sweat while sparing, and once, accidentally, dislocating his trick shoulder.

Problems came and went, and the trio faced them all together. They were nearly unstoppable, and Y/N had never been happier. Her dull existence had exploded that night in the root cellar, and opened an entire world to her eyes. She left behind a boring desk job, high heels, and updos in favor of adventure, leather boots, and black eyes. She had purpose, excitement, love, mystery; it was everything, and it was amazing. 

 

Dean lifted his arm from her shoulder as he pulled off the highway, finding the promise of a mountain-view scenic overlook too much to pass up. The Impala coasted into a parking spot and Dean threw her into park.

They sat on the roof and ate leftover burritos from that morning, drinking lukewarm beer from the old green cooler. They watched the sunset over the mountains and retreated to the front seat when the air grew too cool.

“This was a nice day,” Dean said as he turned the car back on, radio springing to life with a familiar tune. 

“Totally was,” Y/N agreed, rolling up her window against the chill.

Dean sat back with a contented smile, his eyes closing as he listened to Bob Seger tell his story. “I love this song,” he sighed. “And the secrets that we shared, mountains that we moved…” His voice cracked as he began to sing along, off key but adorable. “Caught like a wildfire out of control…” 

Y/N shifted next to him and teased. “Tis a good song. When Bob sings it.”

Dean grinned and popped one eye open at her. “If I ever get married, I want this to be my wedding song. Ya know, when you do the first dance and all?” 

“What?” Y/N laughed. “This is not a wedding song, Dean. They break up at the end.” 

“Yeah, but it’s awesome,” he defended. 

 

“It is,” she agreed. “But not for a wedding.”

Dean turned in his seat, pushing his back against the door so he could look at her properly. “So, what would our song be?” he asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

Y/N looked over, raising a brow in amused shock. “You wanna have a song?”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “Why not?”

She thought for a moment, scrunching up her face just to make him laugh. “Um… Chumbawamba.”

Dean laughed. “What?”

“You remember, ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again...something something about booze’.”

His laugh extended passed his mouth and into his entire being. The car shook a bit as he chuckled and Y/N joined him, loving the sound of his laugh more than just about anything else. 

“Ok, ok,” he said, calming down. “Seriously. If we had a song, what would it be?” 

“I don’t know.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, each pondering the best song to define their entire relationship. As if the radio gods were with them that evening, Bob Seger faded away and an old favorite took its place. 

Y/N grinned and nodded to the radio. “Born To Be My Baby,” she said, naming the song. “That’s it. That’s us.”

Dean listened for a few bars and then nodded in agreement. “That’s perfect.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, kissing her knuckles once they reached his lips. 

“So are you,” she whispered, climbing slowly into his lap, ideas churning behind her eyes.

Dean blushed. “Nah.”

“Oh, but you are,” she told him honestly. “Look at you.” Her legs fit snugly around his thighs, her hands tucked behind his ears. “These eyes,” she whispered, leaning close, “all these delicious crinkles.” She wet her lips as Dean stared up at her, eyes glazing over with desire. “These lips…” 

Their kiss was deep, tongues meeting in a hungry dance. His fingertips snuck up beneath her shirt, guiding it up and away. Y/N leaned back to let him pull it away, diving instantly back in for more. 

“So fucking perfect,” she told him between kisses, her fingers scratching through his short hair. 

Dean hummed against her lips as he popped the clasp on her bra. He kissed the red marks on her shoulders as he peeled the straps down, nibbled on each breast as he set them free. 

“Dean,” she moaned his name again and again as his lips locked around her nipple. 

He growled in reply and pulled her closer; his hands cupping her ass, his lips covering every inch of her, from the pulsing vein in her neck to the faint white scars over her heart. 

~

It was another sunny September day and the road was much the same except Sam was with them and they actually had a destination. 

“I haven’t been to Texas in forever,” Y/N commented as the road signs began to hint at their upcoming exit. “Like, actually ever. Huh.” 

Dean looked over at her. “Yes you were. We worked that case near Austin, with the…” He looked to the rearview quickly. “What did we do in Austin again, Sam?” 

Sam’s eye rose from the book in his hands. “Uh… skin-walker?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean shrugged and went back to the road. “You remember the skin-walkers in Texas, Y/N/N.”

“Dean, you barely remember the skin-walkers in Texas,” she said with a laugh. “And that wasn’t with me. I’d remember. I’m all about cowboys.” 

A smirk tickled Dean’s lip as he looked over at her. “I could be a cowboy.”

Y/N hummed in interest and slid closer, her hand falling to stroke his thigh. “Well, yeehaw…”

Sam cleared his throat quickly, desperate to break up whatever was about to happen right in front of him. “Uh, guys?” 

Y/N’s thumb froze just a quarter inch to the right of Dean’s treasures and she huffed in annoyance. “Like you haven’t seen it before,” she shot to Sam over her shoulder.

“Yes,” Sam agreed, cringing, “but I’d rather not see it again. Thank you.” 

Dean chuckled to himself as the road curved to the left. “So, what’s the deal with these hippies again?” 

“They’re not hippies, Dean.” Sam reached over and dropped a manilla file onto the front seat that Y/N quickly snatched up. 

“Gypsies, hippies, Indians...whatever,” she said under her breath as she flipped through the file.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You can't say Indians…” His frustration grew and his hands shook as he reprimanded the duo for the umpteenth time. “They're Native Americans!”

Sniggering filled the front seat and Sam's jaw twitched. “Ha. Ha.”

Dean grinned in the mirror. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“It's Sam.”

“This is cool,” Y/N interrupted, reading from the photocopies Sam had made of books back in the Bunker. “What do you know about Time Bending, Sammy?”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam. Please.”

Y/N chuckled. Dean gave her a proud smile as he switched lanes. 

“Anyway…” Y/N encouraged him as she perused the pages. 

“I don't know much,” Sam confessed, sitting back in his seat, “study of the spell was banned by the Men of Letters and there are no documented cases of it actually being used-”

“Well they wouldn't know, would they?” Y/N interrupted, still scanning the file. “Only the practitioner has memory of the spell.”

“Hmm. I didn't get to that part.”

Y/N nodded and tossed the file back to Sam. “Fuck, my stomach.” She held in a belch and Dean shook his head.

“You know you can't read in the car.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she waved him off and rolled down her window for some air. “So, we got gypsies who can time travel, putting right what once went wrong, and some kinda witches stealing their powers. Cool.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam agreed, still trying to rearrange the mess she’d made inside the folder.

Dean took the next exit. “So they're Sliders?” he asked.

“No, more like Quantum Leap,” Y/N explained.

Sam laughed behind them. “Nerds.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“It's...Sam!”

~

Lindsey Price was a tall, busty brunette with dark eyes and pouty lips. The brilliant red of her dress was echoed in her nails and lipstick, making her skin milky white and her hair black as raven down. 

Dean loved the cut of her dress, low enough to give a peek on top, but demure enough downstairs to leave something up to the imagination.

Y/N thought she looked like a slutty Snow White.

They had found the debutante by way of a dozen interviews and Sam's detective work. Miss Price was rich, successful, and climbing ladders in her Fortune 500 company way faster than anyone had the right to. Still, she nearly charmed the pants off Mr. Winchester, a fact that Y/N refused to let slide as they left the interview. 

“You know she’s the witch, right?” Y/N told him, her lip curled in a sneer.

Dean held open the front door, stepping aside to let Y/N pass. “Oh, come on. No way.”

A wave of heat smacked Y/N in the face and she rolled her eyes at it and Dean. “It’s obvious. How can you not see that? It’s like we’re in a friggin’ Scooby Doo episode.”

Dean gave a faint chuckle and scurried to catch up with her. “First off, don’t joke about that, that was awesome. Secondly, where’s your proof?”

Y/N stopped on the bottom step and spun around, hands on hips, scowl on lips. “My proof is that I have eyes that don’t get caught up in lacy red bra cups peeking out from behind low-cut necklines. I can magically look passed the mountain of mascara and nine inch stilettos to see she’s lying, oh, and a murderer. Also, that place is like pulsing with magical energy. Did you not feel it? She’s the witch. I’ll put money on it.”

A tight lipped grin pulled at Dean’s features as he looked down at Y/N. “Is someone jealous?”

“What!”

“You are,” he laughed and shook his head. “It’s OK. People flirt with me all the time, doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.” 

His smile was cocky and Y/N withheld the urge to sock him in the jaw.

“I’m not jealous. I’m working. And quite frankly, if you’re attracted to her, I feel sorry for you. There wasn’t a single thing on her that wasn’t enhanced in some way, magically or scientifically.” Y/N shrugged and hopped down the last step. 

“Wait, you mean…”

“Yeah, Dean. Those were fake. Jesus f-ing-”

“OK, OK. Hey!” He grabbed her elbow, pulling her back. She rolled her eyes, but let him snuggle up to her in apology. “I’m just screwing with you, OK?”

Y/N looked up, unconvinced. “So you believe me that she’s the witch?” 

“No, but…”

Y/N tried to pull away, but Dean held tight. 

“I just…”

“You weren’t flirting with her?” 

Dean shook his head and smiled. “I flirted back, sure, but we got what we needed, didn’t we?” 

Y/N sighed heavily in reply. 

“I’m sorry.” His hands rose to cup her cheeks. “I don’t want some snotty, high-heeled Snow White. I want you, OK? Just you.”

Y/N pouted but a smile snuck out. There was no way to resist him, she never even tried. He could smile his way out of anything in her mind. “Yeah, OK.”

A quick peck on the lips and then back to business. 

“You saw the Snow White thing too, huh?” 

Dean laughed and opened the car door for her. “Hell, yeah. It was kinda creepy. I kept looking around for apples.”

~

Sam was standing in front of the air conditioner when Y/N walked in. He had his shirt pulled away from his stomach to collect some air, but the shitty blower did little to staunch the sweat that covered him. 

“Well that’s a sight,” Y/N teased as she kicked the door shut behind her. “Nice happy trail, Sam.”

Sam dropped his shirt and rolled his eyes. “Where’s Dean?”

“Food run. How’s the books?” 

Sam shrugged. “Good. Nothing new, really.”

Y/N kicked off her dress shoes and sighed in relief. “I hate these stupid shoes. My toes were not meant to be crammed into a point like this.” 

“Well, grab your boots, I need you to come with me.”

“But I just got back,” Y/N whined, shooting him an epic pout. 

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I need to go talk to some of the witnesses.”

Y/N flopped down face first onto the bed and peeked at him. “So why do you need me?” 

Sam laughed gently. “Because they are a matriarchal society and prefer to deal with women.”

Popping up on one elbow, Y/N eyed him and nodded. “You do seem to be a rather large, intimidating man. I mean, I know you’re a puppy dog, but some people…”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Just a big ole softee. A twinkie. A cupcake wrapped in a giant suit of armor.”

“Are you done?”

Y/N scrunched up her nose in thought. “Um…”

Sam sighed and rolled his shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’m done. Lemme get changed.”

“Thank you.” 

Y/N jumped up from the bed and patted Sam’s cheek. “Such a softee.” He grinned and she pinched. “So cute.”

~

Y/N and Sam sat on opposite ends of the pale blue sofa, politely sipping lemonade as Maybelle settled into her rocking chair. 

The old woman was adorable. She wore her long black hair in two braids that wound around her head like a crown and gorgeous turquoise earrings that Y/N could not stop staring at. There was something comforting about her, something familiar. But deja vu was just a feeling and Y/N let it go. 

“This is delicious, thank you,” Sam said, setting his drink down on the coffee table. 

Maybelle smiled kindly and pushed off on her bare toes to start rocking. “You’re very welcome, my dear. My lemonade is famous around here.” 

Sam licked his lip and sat back, folding his hands in his lap. “I can see why.” 

“You’re pretty famous yourself,” Y/N piped up over her glass. “Everyone we talked to today mentioned you.”

The woman shrugged. “I suppose that’s true.”

Y/N opened her mouth to continue but Sam stepped in. 

“We’re sorry to take up so much of your time, ma’am but-”

“Maybelle, please.” 

Sam smiled and nodded. “Maybelle. But we need to know what you saw the other night.”

Maybelle’s eyes filled with sadness and the room grew darker. 

Feeling her pain, Y/N sat forward and addressed her softly. “I know how hard it can be, but any information you have would be very helpful. We want to stop the person doing this.”

“People,” Maybelle corrected. She took a deep breath and sighed as the words poured out. “There are three women, a coven of witches. They came to me some years ago asking to be taught our ways, but I could sense their intent. They are evil and our magic will not be used for darkness.”

“So you turned them away?” Sam asked gently. 

“Yes. A mistake, perhaps, but I do not regret it.”

Y/N chewed her lip. “And now they’re coming for you, they’re stealing the magic anyway.”

Maybelle nodded. “My daughters are being murdered, their magic taken, and I can’t stop them.”

Sam reached over the arm of the sofa and took Maybelle’s hand. “We will stop them, I promise.”

“I know, my boy,” she replied, patting his hand with hers. “I know.”

~

“I told you!” Y/N yelled triumphantly into the phone. “Snow White’s the murderer!”

Dean laughed. “You’re way too happy about this, Babe.”

“I mean, I just like being right. Which I always am, so…”

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone from her, punching the speaker button with an annoyed finger. “Dean. You get the address?”

“Yeah.”

“Text it to me and we’ll meet you there.” 

Dean huffed. “You’re awful snippy.”

“I’m not-” Sam took a breath to calm himself. “I’m not snippy. It’s a million degrees out here and I just want to finish this.”

~

They arrived at the house at dusk. Bard Avenue was quiet, but the wind was strong, blowing down the empty street, howling between houses. 

Y/N was leaning against the trunk as Dean walked around from the driver’s side. “Hey, Handsome,” she called to him, teeth digging into the corner of her mouth. “One last kiss for good luck?”

Dean smirked as he stepped up and leaned into her side. “Don’t need luck, baby.” His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. “But I will take a kiss.”

Up on the sidewalk, Sam cleared his throat, politely coughing into his fist. 

Y/N broke away from Dean and swayed her hips as she walked away. “How ‘bout you, Sam?” she teased. 

Sam cringed. “Pass.”

“Your loss, Big Boy!” 

The brothers watched her head up the street towards the Price House, tight jeans clinging in all the right places, boots falling heavy on the cement. 

Dean sighed and clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes glassy with love, lips pulled into an adoring smile. “I tell ya, Sammy...She is all the luck I’ll ever need.” 

~

 

It was an ambush. 

The coven was waiting for them and the attack began as soon as Sam slipped the deadbolt on the back door. 

Flashes of light flew through the air, left and right, above and below; it swirled around the Hunters in bright, disorienting patterns. 

Sam went down first. He was sent flying through the hallway, pushed by an invisible shockwave into an antique grandfather clock. The clock followed his collapse onto the hardwood floor, slamming into the top of his head.

Dean popped the first witch, a little blonde wisp of a thing, who wouldn't have stood a chance on her own. As it was, her stolen power was strong and she put up a nice fight before Dean's tincture laced bullet pierced her heart. 

Y/N was after the main prize. Snow White was waiting in the kitchen and Y/N was the Queen, ready to take her down with a dram of poison. After checking on Sam, she snuck away from the malay and tracked Lindsey down, finding her oddly calm, standing behind her kitchen island. 

“You shouldn't have come here,” Lindsey said, her dark eyes glowing with power. 

Y/N shrugged and raised her gun. “Well…I heard you were having a dinner party. My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. No hard feelings.” 

The witch lifted her arms, Y/N took aim. 

It all happened so quickly. 

Bright red light collected around Lindsey’s hands, leaping between her fingertips, gathering strength as she chanted under her breath. 

Y/N was mesmerized, watching the glowing display take shape, formed out of thin air, aided by the twisted magic. 

Lindsey’s arms rose above her head as she prepared to strike. 

The kitchen door swung open and Dean appeared, calling to Y/N to get down. She couldn’t hear him; trapped in a trance by the witch’s power. 

Lindsey released her magic, sending a wave of red towards Y/N. She screamed, unable to move more than lifting her arms to hide her face. 

Dean dove in, knocking Y/N off her feet, sending her flying out of the way of the blast. She hit the ground and rolled onto her back, finding her target once more and taking the shot. 

Lindsey fell to the cold tiles, dark eyes blank and empty, ruby lipstick perfectly in place. 

“Dean!”

He was face down on the floor, eyes closed, lips parted, breath gone.

Y/N crawled to him, calling his name again and again, desperate for an answer. He looked so calm, as if he had fallen asleep there, but the angle of his neck was askew, his legs bent the wrong way, his chest was still. 

“No, no, no, please.” Y/N checked his pulse, shook his shoulder, held back her tears as the moment hung over her head. “Dean… please wake up.” She fell down beside him, pressing her cheek to the tile to match his. She lay her hand on his cheek. “Wake up, Babe, please.”

~

Sam had been there before. He knew the pain of seeing his brother’s lifeless body. Remembered the guilt and the anguish, the pull of hopelessness, the sting of tears. 

Y/N couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She let Sam lead her to the car and she sat in the front seat, staring blankly at the purple sky as Sam carried his brother’s body out of the house. 

He lay Dean across the backseat and covered him carefully with the old army blanket from the trunk. 

Y/N refused to look back. 

They gathered their things in the motel room, silently packing away any evidence that they’d been there. 

Y/N cut her palm on Dean’s razor, squeezing it tightly in her fist before putting it away, forcing the tears to stay back. Tiny droplets of blood painted the sink, and she pushed those away too, washing them down the drain. 

Sam fished a gray sock out from under the bed and stared down at it, the pain in his chest growing with each second. It was Dean’s. Sam only wore white. His breath came quickly, his eyes blurred, and Sam gave up, dropping down onto the bed, clenching the sock in his hand, gritting his teeth. 

“Sam…” Y/N stood in the bathroom door, watching as Sam broke down. When he didn’t look up, she went to him, sinking down beside him and offering him her shoulder.

He clung to her, giant fist balling up her shirt, tears soaking it quickly. “Every time is worse than the last time.” 

Y/N rubbed his back, unable to console him, finding no words that could make it better. Dean had died protecting her. It was a debt she could never repay. Unless…

~

“Y/N, please,” Sam begged, turning in the passenger seat to look at her straight on. “You can’t do this.”

“I can and I will. This is our only option, Sam.” Her hands were tight on the wheel as the Impala roared through the dusty streets. “This will work. I know it will.” 

“Magic always has a price, Y/N. Always! You don’t know what the cost of this will be. You can’t do it.” 

“Not even for him?” She turned to glare at Sam. “Not even for Dean? How can you say that?” Back to the road as her eyes welled with tears. “I have to try.”

~

Maybelle was on the front porch, tiny hand resting against the column next to the stairs. She called to Y/N before the car door even squeaked shut. 

“I know why you’re here and the answer is no.”

Y/N raced up the driveway, determination and anger pulsing off of her. “If you know why I’m here, you know I’m not going to leave until you help us.” 

Maybelle looked down at Y/N, her eyes wet with sympathetic tears. “I know how much you’re hurting, Y/N, but I can’t.”

“You have to help me! You have to bring him back!” Y/N finally broke, doubling over as the tightness in her chest became too much. Sam raced to her side, catching her before she fell. 

“That is not how this works, Child.” Maybelle explained, shaking her head slowly. “I can't reach back in time and bring Dean home to you.”

Gasping for air, fighting the tears, she pushed Sam away and fell forward onto the stairs, reaching up for Maybelle, begging. “Then send me back,” she cried. “I know you can.”

“I can,” she agreed sadly. “But I won't. Not again.”

Y/N froze as her words sank in. She looked up at Maybelle and then to Sam, stuck and confused, looking for an answer. 

Sam stepped forward. “What? What do you mean, again?”

 

They sat inside at the kitchen table, mugs of steaming coffee in their hands. Y/N took a sip and marvelled at the taste, loving the hint of cinnamon that tickled her tongue. 

When things had settled, Sam spoke up, addressing the old woman gently. “Maybelle, please. What did you mean, you won’t do it again?”

Maybelle sighed and gave him a weak smile. “I mean, I’m tired, my boy. I’m very tired of this scene.”

Y/N looked up from her mug. “What does that even mean?” She was exhausted and desperate and her tone was harsh. 

Maybelle narrowed her eyes at Y/N and leaned in. “It means, that I’m tired of this whole thing. You have been at my door begging for this nearly a dozen times. Maybe more; I lost count.”

“No.” Y/N shook her head. “No.”

Uncaring of her disbelief, Maybelle went on. “I have seen every possible version of you, heard every plea, seen every tear you’ve shed over these boys.”

“That’s… not possible.”

“Last time around you came begging for Sam's life,” Maybelle informed her, looking towards Sam who gasped slightly, his brows creasing. 

Y/N was a step away from crying again, her voice tight and high. “How can that be true? I don't... I don't remember any of this.”

Maybelle sat back in her chair. “You wouldn't. I alone bear the curse of memory. But you do have proof.” She tapped two fingers against her chest and nodded at Y/N. “You wear the marks of time over your heart.”

Y/N clutched her heart. “The...scars…”

“Each time your life is reset,” Maybelle explained, “Our world is scarred and you hold those markers.”

Sam shook his head, tired and confused. “This is insane.”

“No, Sam, she's right.” Y/N peeled down the collar of her shirt, showing Sam the tips of the white lines criss crossing her skin. So many lines she had always ignored, never knowing what the were. 

“There is no precedent for what we've done, you and I.” Maybelle went on. “I can't continue. Each time I send you back I pray that I’ll never see you again, but always you turn back up, with one boy on your arm and the other in your heart. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it all, so have all of you. I won't do it again.”

They were out of words. Sam hung his head, searching for answers in the dregs of his coffee. Y/N couldn’t sit there any longer. She kicked her chair away and fled, storming out of the house, letting the back door slam shut behind her. 

The sky was lightening, stingy clouds glowing with a hint of sunrise. The air was cool and stung her cheeks, the tracks of her tears biting into her flesh as they froze. 

The backyard was filled by a large circle made of white stones, and Y/N fell to her knees on the outskirts, mindful of the perimeter. The grass was dry and hard; it scratched her knuckles as she folded in on herself. 

She closed her eyes but she saw his face, perfectly formed in her mind, dead on the cold floor. She wiped at her eyes but they still burned. She held her breath but the urge to scream wouldn’t ebb. 

The wind spoke his name, carrying her pain on the morning breeze. 

“I am sorry, Child.” 

Y/N looked up, squinting at the slowly brightening sky. Maybelle stood on her right, gazing up at the clouds, fingertips brushing Y/N’s shoulder. 

She grabbed her hand, a familiar gesture out of nowhere. Y/N needed the comfort, needed to be grounded by another human being, needed help. “You have to do this,” she whispered into the wind. “One final time.”

Maybelle wrapped her thin fingers around Y/N’s and squeezed. “It won't be the last, you'll return again and again. It’s an endless loop.”

“Maybe this time will be different. I can make it different, I know I can. I can get it right this time.”

Maybelle sighed, but didn’t speak, knowing the course was already set. 

“I can't let him die,” Y/N went on, rocking on her knees to soothe her tears. “I can't. There are no deals left to make, no beings willing to make them. We’re out of favors, luck. You are my only hope. Please.” Y/N took a breath and looked up into kind, old eyes. “One last time.”

~

Sam watched from the kitchen window as Maybelle worked her magic. He held his breath as she drew the silver blade across Y/N’s arm, looked away as the blood began to flow. 

He strained his ears to hear the spell, but the wind was high and his mind was weary. 

It didn’t take long. 

The fire burned high. 

Y/N lay down in the dry grass, blinking into the warm September sunrise.


	3. Cocktails and Things That Would Never Be

It was a morning like any other; a day not very remarkable in its start.

Y/N woke up late, as usual, having struck the snooze button on her alarm more than once. She stumbled bleary eyed to the bathroom and stood beneath the hot water for longer than she should have, letting the heat and strong spray wake her up. Her mind was foggy, addled by a dream she couldn’t shake. As the water struck her closed eyes, flashes returned to her, but nothing made any sense. She felt herself panic in the dream world as she ran from dark, menacing figures. She felt the cold cement beneath her feet, felt it sting her back as she fell down onto it. Then came a wave of peace as Y/N felt strong hands pick her up, heavy arms wrap around her shoulders; heard a calming voice. She couldn’t recall the plot, could not pick out any meaning, and by the time the water had run cold, Y/N had pushed the dream away.

She went to work, drank too much coffee, declined a dinner invitation from her coworker, and headed off at the end of the day to meet her roommate, Tessa, at a new bar for drinks. It was a normal Monday. Boring, routine, plain.

Four Cosmos and multiple shots of SoCo later, Tessa and Y/N left the bar and turned left down Broadway, deciding to hail a cab instead of stumbling down the dark alleyways that lead to home.

It was a humid night; the air hung like a wet blanket around them, matting their hair to the backs of their necks and dampening their shirts. The street was darker than usual, a few street lamps having burned out or gone on the fritz, but the drunken ladies didn’t pay any mind. They walked arm in arm down the empty street, laughing over some random guy at the bar who had tried too hard to impress them.

“I mean, what a pick up line,” Tessa mused, and then put on a deep voice as she mocked the terrible advance, “‘Your shirt has to go, but you can stay’? Who says stuff like that?”

Y/N’s laugh echoed through the air, and she stumbled a bit to the left, bumping into a tall man headed towards the bar.

Their hands brushed and Y/N gasped, letting go of Tessa to spin around and offer an apology.

“I am so sorry!”

Kind hazel eyes smiled back at her and the stranger nodded gently, tucking long chestnut hair behind his ear. “It’s OK,” he said, “I wasn’t looking.”

Y/N smiled and stared for a moment, lost in the beauty of his eyes. Tessa tugged at her sleeve and the spell was broken.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, turning away.

“Goodnight.”

Dean was leaning on the brick wall outside the bar, watching Sam’s little meet cute with a smirk.

“She was cute,” he teased as Sam approached.

“What’s that?” Sam’s cheeks began to burn bright pink but he tried to play it off.

Dean kicked away from the wall. “The Girl Who Goes Bump In The Night. She was cute.”

“I guess so.”

“Should ask her to come have a drink with you.”

Sam looked back over his shoulder to see Y/N disappearing into the night. He shook his head at Dean. “Nah. She’s already gone.”

“So chase her down! Chicks dig that kinda romantic crap.”

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re a romance expert now?”

Dean chuckled and patted Sam on the back, leading him into the bar. “That’s right,” he joked. “Dean Winchester, Ladies Man.”

“Let’s just get you a drink so I can get back to work.”

Dean sighed but agreed. “Yeah, you’re right. These vamps ain’t gonna gank themselves.”


End file.
